Under Suspicion
by MythicRhyvon
Summary: A story of loyalty, betrayal, revelations and bonds. When an unbiased party is needed to determine the risk of Alex Riders' continued employment with MI6 and his loyalty to England, who better to determine then one who has given everything for Queen and Country? When push comes to shove loyalty falls to those who have earned it. Slash, crossover, full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

Under Suspicion

Full summary: A story of loyalty, betrayal, revelations and the forging of bonds. When an unbiased party is needed to determine the risk of Alex Riders' continued employment with MI6 and his loyalty to England, who better to determine then one who has given everything for Queen and Country? But the deeper they dig, the more questions that form. Why are they investigating a seventeen year old at all? And how is such a young man so experienced and jaded? They'll get answers one way or another, but they won't necessarily like what they find. James/Q, Alex/Yassen, Mycroft/Greg *Q is a Holmes*

Chapter 1:

Q-Branch was a bustle of activity, as it always was during and often even after daylight hours. James Bond, code name 007, had become a quite common sight amongst the boffins and programmers in recent months, to the point they scarcely spared him a glance as he strode confidently to the center console where their esteemed branch head stood. The petite man's fingers were hardly more than a blur as his eyes darted from one line of code to the next, moving faster than the average person could read a novel.

"007, to what do I owe the pleasure? I find I'm quite busy today." He stated, tone distracted and without a pause or glance at the intimidating man who just far enough away to maintain the required veneer of professionalism.

"M sent me to fetch you. You haven't responded to his urgent email, apparently. A man of your import really should be _on top_ of these things, Quartermaster." A teasing note edged into his drawl as it quieted towards the end, lowering enough that the nearest minions should be unable to overhear him alluding to their coupling the night before.

Slender fingers came to a stop on the keyboard and a gusty sigh left red lips as tired eyes glared over at the looming agent, who looked none the worse for wear despite being the primary reason he was kept up so far into the early hours of the morn. "Because I have nothing better to do with my time than sit at my computer on the chance an email should chime up that demands my immediate attention." His response was snappy from too little sleep, much too little caffeine, and a headache that had been steadily growing since first stepping off the elevator and into his domain hours prior.

"I've told you before you should demand a secretary."

"Most of the stuff that crosses my desk is for my eyes only, or at least too high security for the average agent to gain access to. Setting a secretary there would cause me more work than it would save me." He sighed again, and ran a hand through already disheveled hair. "A 00 though would have high enough clearance for most of it. Tell me Bond, would you like to be my secretary?"

The familiar naughty glint in his eye grew more obvious as his head tilted to the side. "I could imagine worse jobs." He said slyly. "And I'm sure we could find ways to fill all the time I'd be saving you." The man lifted a hand and Q noticed for the first time the steaming paper cup from the café down the street he preferred if ordering pre-made tea. The smell hit his nose at the same time and his ire softened immediately. He accepted the offering with a small smile, lifting it to his lips immediately and humming in pleasure at finding it piping hot still.

It occurred to him that the man must have gone there _after_ the order to fetch him for an apparently urgent matter, and so M would likely be growing more and more impatient as he waited, but Q couldn't bring himself to scold the man for it. Well, yet, anyway. He supposed it depended on the nature of the summoning. Still, better not to keep his boss waiting any longer.

He flagged down R to fill her in and then departed, his deadly companion trailing him so close he might as well have been glued to his shoulder. They made their way swiftly up to the executive floors, bypassing the elevator all together and taking the stairs instead. It was a bit of a jaunt, but Q had gotten precious little chance to stretch his legs and so took advantage of the opportunity. His shadow fell back slightly then, allowing the slighter man to pull several steps ahead, so that he might better appreciate the slender hips and taunt buttocks encased inside of the well-fitting, if hideously checkered, trousers James had watched him pull on that morning.

Q was well acquainted with the man's ways, and so when he felt him physically withdraw he simply rolled his eyes without glancing back. He'd finished the tea by the time they arrived on the correct floor, so he tossed it in the bin beside Moneypenny's desk as she looked up at their entrance. "About bloody time!" She scolded in a hiss. "Go on in, he's waiting for you." She didn't allow them to respond, but rather buzzed M immediately, informing him of their arrival.

His heavy wooden door was pulled open a second later, Tanner appearing in the gap with a frown of his own. He held it open for them and then closed it again once they'd entered. His hand moved to a hidden panel on the wall, punching in the command to place the room in black out mode. A quiet hum started up as the noise scramblers kicked on in the surrounding structure, the electronics disconnected for the majority of their servers (including the hidden security camera mounted in the corner above the door, placed to get an image of M's face and the back of his computer, but not his desktop of screen). Outside the room, a dim red light began blinking from its spot above the door.

"Thank you for joining us." M drawled from his place stood before the large glass windows that overlooked London, his back to the room. The pair remained silent as they took the remaining two seats before the desk, Tanner having returned to the one pushed over to the other side. M turned once they were all seated and joined them by sitting back in his own chair.

"I apologize, Sir." Q spoke when he saw the unapologetic smirk curling the edge of his partner's mouth. "I was on the floor and didn't receive your summons. Perhaps you might try calling next time? I'm rarely in my office during the day, after all." He hadn't intended to let that out, should have stopped after the apology, but the man really should have learned that lesson with how long he'd now held his position. It had been months since they'd lain the old M to rest, and things still felt a bit off. The old M knew better than to try and send him an _email_ of all things. Honestly, all the technology at their fingertips and that was the method he preferred to communicate with his staff?

He received a sharp look in return, but the man didn't scold him for his tone. "I'll try to remember that." He drawled instead, pushing a folder towards him. Q's lip curled, nose twitching, as he reached out to accept the thin stack of papers.

The folder opened to reveal the photo of a young man with short, wavy blond hair and cold eyes staring out of a hard, jaded looking face. A few basic statistics were listed next to the photo.

Name: Alexander John Rider.

DOB: Restricted.

Height: 5'10.

Weight: 63.5 kilos.

Hair: Blond.

Eye colour: Brown.

Defining Characteristics: Birthmark, left shoulder. Bullet wound, left chest.

Q turned the page.

Associated Agencies: MI6, SIS, CIA, ASIS, Scorpia. Each organization was followed by a very small paragraph with a brief description of events, along with a much smaller picture of him after each operation.

The third and last page had three small lines typed neatly in the middle of the page.

Security level: Black.  
Authorization level: Revoked.  
Status: Undetermined.

Q looked up at M searchingly as he passed the folder over to 007 at M's gesture. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Sir. Who is he?"

"He's an agent. Currently under investigation for ties to the terrorist group SCORPIA. Our sister branch wants someone unbiased and neutral to determine if this Agent is still loyal to Her Majesty, or if he is a threat to be dealt with. You have been assigned to the task, 007. He is coming here in one week under the guise of a joint operation. It is your job to assess his possible threat risk. If you believe him a loyal agent you will finish the mission quietly with him none the wiser. If you believe him lost you are to determine whether or not he can be retired, or if he need be eliminated. If you find him to be a threat, your orders become elimination. You have no restrictions, and there will be no investigation or questions into your decision."

James' eyes glanced back down to the folder. "This boy hardly looks old enough to shave. And I don't believe I have ever seen a classified birth date before. What's really going on M?"

The man sighed, broad shoulders slumping slightly and his professionalism faltering for the briefest of moments. "He was recruited by our sister branch when he was fourteen. His employment with them has been… questionable, and would look very bad on Her Majesty should it become public knowledge. This is a very delicate operation 007, and the possible consequences are enormous. It is imperative that you use caution and come to the right decision. The information he has could be enough to topple the Monarchy, in the wrong hands."

"When you say no restrictions?"

"Well, they requested he not be given weapons, citing a lack of training and proficiency. Otherwise it is at your discretion."

007's brow raised as he glanced pointedly down at the list of associated agencies. The list didn't mesh well with the idea that the boy wouldn't be proficient with weapons. M looked as though he agreed, but lifted his hands in a show of helplessness. "That folder is all of the information I have. B is holding this one close to his chest."

"This is a lot of freedom and power to place in one man's hands, without giving me much to go on." Bond remarked back loftily, though his eyes had gone hard and cold already. It was not a good task to assign to anyone, but Bond himself had been scrutinized after his apparent death enough to have felt the surprising sting that resulted from a lack of faith aimed at him.

"You will have to discover much more before you reach a decision, I'm sure. I have faith you can accomplish it." His tone was almost challenging, brow half raised and eyes gazing over coolly. Bond smiled back, a flash of white visible with the motion. M glanced away a second later, though Bond continued to gaze steadily across at him. "Quartermaster, you will be 007's sole handler for this assignment. The fewer people involved, the better off we'll be for now."

"Sir." Q nodded in agreement, though he felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach at the thought. He too knew what it was like to be distrusted within the agency, having gained his start as a law-abiding citizen at the tender age of sixteen, when he'd been tracked down and arrested after a seventy-two hour coding session that had ended with a celebratory hacking into London's traffic grid and forming a gridlock to the likes of which were unheard of. It was only with satellite imagery that his creative genius was discovered in the form of a huge Fibonacci spiral unfurling across the ancient streets.

He knew it had been a stupid, careless thing to do, but he'd been high on the thrill of success that came with the new zeros filling his bank account, and cocky to boot. It might not have been so bad, if not for the fact that the Queen had apparently been traveling by car that day, and had become caught in the snare, creating something of a diplomatic incident when someone mentioned the possibility of a well-planned assassination attempt. There was little that left one more helpless after all, than being trapped in the middle of a London Traffic Jam- boxed in on either side by multiple cars and well and truly unable to break free.

MI6 had some of the best minds in the country, and so it hadn't taken them long to track him down after such a triggering event. He'd only just finally crashed on the mattress pushed off to the side of his one-room flat when they busted through his door and windows, and they had him restrained before he was fully able to open his eyes or sit up. He'd been dragged from his flat in naught by the boxer-briefs and hoodie he'd crashed in, and tossed in the back of a reinforced looking black SUV without care.

Within twenty minutes he found himself seated on a biting metal chair, the sharpish edge of its seat digging uncomfortably into the bare stretch of thigh, while equally cold cuffs bit sharply into his thin, pale wrists. Despite his bravado, he'd been young and it hadn't taken long before their intimidation tactics began to work- threats of a lifetime in prison for acts of treason against the crown, namely, that really broke through to him. It wasn't as though he was really a traitor, after all. He'd simply been playing the game of survival as best he could with what he had.

When he met M that first time, she wasn't anything like he was expecting. She scared the shite out of him, no doubt about that, but she was also fair. She laid things out for him bluntly and then allowed him to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life (stifled as the options now were).

He'd ended up working for Six after a brief mandatory incarceration in which he was kept out of Gen Pop due to his age (no matter that his documents showed him fully emancipated, as he'd altered them to read before he'd even turned fourteen). After that sentence, he was given assigned living quarters at a Six building nearby, along with an ankle tracker that would be difficult for even him to break through, given its sleek shape, invisible seam and unknown locking mechanism.

It had actually been the tracker that had truly caught his attention, for while it was a beautiful piece of tech, he knew he could make it better if given the chance. During the day, he found himself sat alone at a desk given simple tasks to perform, feeling a bit like a wind-up monkey with every action of his monitored both by video feed and from within the computer he'd been assigned to use.

Despite the drag of monotony, he'd decided to make the most of what had become his life having realized the chance he been given, and so he threw himself fully into the tedious work. He completed the tasks before they believe it possible, at first assuming he hadn't done it correctly or had half-arsed it out of spite, but they quickly realized how flawless of products he returned to them. It took time but he eventually graduated to larger and more difficult projects, though he was still monitored closely.

It wasn't until he was twenty-one that he'd been allowed in Q branch for the first time, after five full years of hard work on his part. He'd hoped his presence would simply be assumed a normal addition- and it was, for the most part. Q and R, however, had both been briefed on his record and were tasked with continuing to monitor him.

Despite the continued surveillance, he'd thrived in his new environment. Boothroyd, after witnesses his genus first hand, had quickly taken him under his wing. R though, remained stern and aloft, never fully taking his eyes off their youngest member. R's own suspicious garnered a fair share of attention on the boy, which had continued after he'd left the position of R to accept the Head of R&D position.

When everything happened with Silva, he'd felt the full force of that suspicion fall back onto his head. He had, after all, managed to advance from one of many Q-branch members to the Quartermaster under fairly suspicious circumstances. Plugging Silva's laptop into their server had been yet another strike against him, and so in addition to the feel of shame and failure that crept up his throat when their target had escaped, he also had to deal with the fierce rebuttal his promotion was receiving from the branch their division worked closest with.

When M died and Mallory stepped into the head position, he'd requested to meet individually with all branch leads. When Q received his own summons, it had been obvious his former superior had already brought his complaints to the man's attention- The old M had come to trust him in time, else she wouldn't have promoted him as she did, but perhaps this M would see more sense-? Q could only imagine what the older man hoped to accomplish, considering his otherwise flawless record over the past two decades.

Still, he was nothing if not brilliant, and so came prepared with figures and reports detailing all of the progress and advancement Q-branch had made under his leadership; the decline in tech malfunction incidents and thus the decline in Agent death and injury; the increased efficiency in their tools and tech, resulting in shortened mission length and thus allowing for quicker re-deployment; the decline in incidents of Agents going dark as they grew to trust the voice in their ear more and more as time passed… the list was impressive, and Mallory made no move to dismiss his successful transition, but rather complimented him on a job well done and bid he carry on.

Still, every one and a while, he got the sense that Mallory was _wondering_ , and it sucked that the child he'd been once upon a time still had the ability to cast doubt on his character nearly two decades later. Because of his past, he sympathized with the position this Alexander Rider was in and the scrutiny he was under. While he wasn't thrilled to be a part of such an investigation, he'd do the job without protest as always.

Bond speaking up beside him helped break him free of this thoughts, and he looked over attentively at the question placed. "If this isn't to happen for a week, why's it urgent now?" It was a fair thing to ask, the use of 'urgent' in their setting usually meant something much more time sensitive. A week might as well have been a year for how far away it still was.

Mallory's expression grew even more serious. "To give us time to prepare for our secondary objective. While investigating Agent Rider's loyalty is paramount, we are also going to investigate B, and the way he's running the Royal and General division. If he's using one child soldier, what else is he doing over there?"


	2. Chapter 2

PLEASE NOTE: THIS FIC IS BEING COMPLETELY REWRITTEN. YOU WILL NEED TO REREAD CHAPTER ONE FOR THIS TO MAKE SENSE. THANK YOU!

ALSO: THERE IS MATURE CONTENT BEGINNING IN THIS CHAPTER. IF THAT OFFENDS YOU, PLEASE BE PREPARED OR FIND SOMETHING MORE TO YOUR LIKING.

Chapter 2:

The meeting stretched for several long minutes while they carved out their basic plans for the upcoming dual-focus mission. Unfortunately, Q's day didn't get any less hectic upon his return to the subbasement, and so it was nearing ten o'clock when he finally arrived back home and saw his partner again. James had supper waiting for him in the oven while he himself read a novel lounging on their large window seat. It was dark beyond, rain trailing down the bullet proof surface and a glass of amber liquid set nearly forgotten beside him in his distraction.

He glanced up when the door opened and marked his page a moment later, rising to greet him without hesitation. The lounging Tes jumped down with his tail raised in offence at being jostled from his comfortable spot nestled between James' leg and the cool rain covered window, but they paid no mind to his familiar antics. Q returned the offered embrace gladly, happy to be home at last after such an exhausting day. He took a long moment to pull away and then excused himself to go shower and change into his longue wear- an old pair of pajama pants and one of James' plain black t-shirts. When he arrived back in the kitchen, his partner had his plate waiting for him with a steaming cup of herbal tea sat beside it. The aromatic scent filling the room told him in was the unpronounceable blend he'd brought home with him from the mission in Sierra Leone a few months previously, and the smell of the food had his stomach rumbling in anticipation.

He sat and began eating immediately, utterly famished. James sat across from him, sipping on the glass that had come with him and waiting patiently for him to finish. Q pushed his plate back soon enough, settling deeper into his chair and cupping his mug comfortably between slender fingers. Only then did they began to speak in earnest.

"How do you want to handle this?" Q questioned. As much as it was his responsibility to help plan out missions to ensure the best outcome possible, it was just as much his responsibility to listen to his agents and take their own input into that planning to ensure the highest level of cohesion possible.

As he'd known he would, James began speaking easily, clearly having spent a good part of the day considering it. "I want to bring him in for a weapons test."

Q raised a brow. "Oh?" He questioned lightly, fully unsurprised to find that his first intention was to breake the only restriction they'd given him.

"You know as well as I that he's got to have some sort of training. So either B hasn't given us all of the information, or Rider's managed to keep the scope of his training from his handlers. I want to find out which it is."

"Okay. When do you want to bring him in?"

"We're set to head out Wednesday. Let's bring him in Monday. Depending on how things go, that'll give you Tuesday to get him a kit fitted. Can you get me a location?" He was _capable_ of finding the boy himself somewhere within the expansive spread of London. He'd managed such feats before with little more than a name, age, and mental image to go on, but it wouldn't be anywhere near easy or fast and he'd much prefer to cut right to the chase.

"I've already got one." He'd expected the man to want it and so had taken the spare hour he had between ending a project in the ballistics lab and taking the Com during a critical part of 004's mission to track down the boy's address and school… And the fact that the boy was still in school blew his mind and once again brought on an unpleasant twist in his stomach accompanied by a flair of nausea.

He himself had taken his GCSEs before he left home at thirteen to ensure things went as smoothly as possible for him once he was on his own. Genus that he'd been declared, he'd prepared for every eventuality he could think of before he set his plans in motion. Because of that, he'd been far beyond a school yard mentality when he'd began his work for MI6, despite his young age. Beyond that, most of his early work involved data on a computer screen. He very much doubted a field agent would be so lucky. How high was the boys kill count? The file brushed over some deaths during the mission reports, but they never specifically named Rider as the direct cause. Still, field agents rarely went long without beginning their own death toll, and the boy had been active for years now.

That he was expected to go back and forth between being an Agent of Her Majesties Secret Service and attending secondary school was horrifying. Granted, the psych reports had been lacking at best, but it was his own experience that every Agent in the -00 program and most all the junior agents had some old trauma(s) that could trigger suddenly and unexpectedly. He'd eat his laptop if Rider didn't have his own mental scars after being employed in such work _and_ managing to live a split life for so long.

Sending a trained Agent into a school full of children, the very idea! It was a miracle he hadn't gotten caught in a flashback or lashed out at any of the students instinctually at some point or other. At least within the origination Agents were surrounded by people trained and capable of handling them at their worst- if not psych (which was considered something of a joke, for the vast majority), than their fellow Agents, at least, stood a fighting chance.

He'd never forget the last time he'd assigned a more junior member of the branch to be James' handler. It'd been not long after they'd began sleeping together, and he'd gotten into his head that he shouldn't be the voice in James' ear any more, for much the same reason a surgeon wouldn't be allowed to operate on his partner. He didn't know how he would handle being the one on the other end of the line, listening to him take his last breaths alone in some remote part of the world because _Q_ had frozen up, or hadn't been good enough to get him to safety, to get him home.

It was supposed to have been a routine intel gathering mission, honestly a little low key for a -00, but James had been benched for going on seven weeks after being injured. He'd been declared fit for duty at week six, but there hadn't been anything come up that would be to the man's caliber, and so he'd gone to standby with increasing frustration. Q had assigned him more because he was at at his wits end than anything else, and he'd already planned to have Andrew run the junior Agent who received the assignment, the man desiring to transition in to a more full time handler position, so it all seemed to work out.

Or, it had seemed to work out. That was, until an unknown with an agenda of his own burst unexpectedly onto the scene, a dozen armed men at his back. Q had been in the munitions lab at the time, soundproof muffs blocking out the sound of his phone buzzing on the workbench nearby. It went unnoticed until he happened to see the light from the corner of his eye. The screen went dark before he was able to grab it, and he cursed silently when he noticed four missed calls from his second.

Before he could dial back, the phone began ringing once more. He answered it immediately with a curt "Yes?"

"007 is demanding you on Com." R responded immediately, voice showing the faintest hum of anxiety. Q was half way back by the time he'd gotten the full story, and he had his own earbud tucked into his ear when he pushed through the reinforced door to his branch. He was patched through as soon as he had visual on the screens and he'd managed to guide the man to a safe extraction point five miles away after some rather fancy finger work on his part.

When it was all said and done, he found out Andrew had told James to turn right when he should have turned left, essentially trapping him into a dead end. It was only thanks to his own skill in hand to hand combat that he was able to escape the three men pinning him down, out of ammo as he'd been at the time. It was bad enough dealing with such a blatant mistake on their end (Q especially having to force himself to remain the impartial Head and not the furious lover), but when 007 arrived back on base in a blaze of fury, proverbial heads rolled. He'd been so visibly livid as he growled at the pallid faced man that 006 had physically clasped a hand of steel around his bicep and escorted him out to the streets of London to let out the pent up steam.

The two had ended up shit-faced on the shadier side of London, under arrest for starting a bar fight in the early hours of the morning. Q liberated them from their jail cell without complaint and dropped off the Russian at his own flat before taking James' back to the man's own. He'd intended to drop him off and head home himself, but the man had been determined to keep him there. He'd given in easier than he'd admit to and what remaining rage James held was spent in a particularly furious round of fucking. After, James had forced his assurance that he wouldn't pawn him off on anyone else, not unless there was other choice- no other choice being that Q was physically incapable of being on Com, or he was on with another Agent who was in deeper shit than he was.

The point of it was- at Six the Agents knew there were others around who could support them and contain them in equal measure. It might have seemed an odd thing to most, but for them it provided comfort. They'd seen the darkest depths of humanity, had seen what men could be driven to do with enough dedication and time, to appreciate the knowledge that there were others around who were just as strong and skilled as they themselves. Q could admit he had a hard time understanding at first- the man seemed so unbreakable, so strong.

It wasn't until a separate conversation entirely, when the man offhandedly compared himself to a weapon to be used at the discretion of its owner, that Q really began to comprehend just what he'd meant. James- all of the -00's, were finely honed machines, capable of feats that should be impossible for a mere man to perform. Q couldn't begin to count the number of bodies buried or burnt because they came up against the deadly man, or the number of times he'd fucked a target for the betterment of the mission- there was little the man unwilling to do if it meant success. Despite it all, no matter how strange or unorthodox of methods he used, he always either completed the mission or put himself out of commission trying to. All of the -00's did, that tenacity was something they were known and valued for.

In the same vein, they'd all been conditioned to take orders without question. They received their mission and more or less followed the set of objectives given. If things went smoothly, they returned home as planned. If things got rocky, extraction became more uncertain of a concept and the outcome could fall sharply and suddenly. Under the right set of circumstance, it wouldn't be impossible to imagine someone else being able to trigger that trained response in them for their own use. It'd be difficult, absolutely no doubt about that, but anyone could be broken under the right pressure. It was a fact they lived by as well as a quiet fear that went unspoken and was rather twisted and added to their impressive arsenal of useable tools.

Rider though was isolated, tossed into a pit of teenage angst and hormones and expected to maintain a cover that became more and more suspect every time it was used, and seemingly without a single contact to fall back upon. He honestly couldn't believe Child Protective Services hadn't been called yet, consider how often he returned from his 'bouts of illness' with injuries to spare. It was impressive that the boy had done as well as he had for as long as he had.

He kept his tone even while he filled the other man in on what he'd found out. He didn't want to risk copying the highly secure files he'd managed to dig his way into, considering the powers-that-be were already worried about the ridiculously redacted file they'd been given getting out somehow. It didn't matter though, his memory was enough that he was able to hit on all important points over the mission briefs and psych reports that gave a much deeper look into the boy they were to investigate than what they'd been given.

Despite the rush of new information, they were still severely lacking in their knowledge. Both knew first hand just how vague those reports could be in comparison to the full scope of events, and expected they were only looking at the tip of the ice burg. After further discussion, it was agreed that James would spend the next couple of days doing recon before initiating any kind of contact.

Necessary conversation finished, they set their minds about finishing their evening in a more enjoyable way than the rest of the day had gone. James came to stand behind his lithe partner, setting a sparkling glass filled with a deep red liquid on the table before him. While not one to indulge in alcohol near as often as his partner, Q did enjoy a drink every now and then. He reached for the glass with a pleased hum of thanks, bringing it to his nose before his mouth in a long integrated habit left over from a childhood long gone.

He took a slow sip and then set the glass back on the table. James' hands fall to his shoulders and begin rubbing immediately once his arms had relaxed back down. After a second he pulled his black t-shirt off of the smaller man, leaving him bare from the waist up and bring his vibrant tattoo into the soft lighting of their dining area. He began kneading in earnest, firm pressure uncomfortable at first but easing as he transitioned to a much more soothing and sensual massage once the worst of the knots had been forced to loosen.

Q let out a sigh through his nose, slender body slumping gracelessly back into the harder torso of the predator looming over his seated form. James accommodated the shift easily, bringing his hands up over his shoulders and around to his chest, switching his attention to his front and bringing his lips to the sensitive skin beneath Q's jaw. His hands continued to move, dragging almost teasingly across ever more sensitive flesh. Playful fingers dipped boldly beneath the band of his trousers but refused to move any further.

As enjoyable as the ministrations were, Q soon desired more and attempted to turn in the embrace he was held in. James immobilized him immediately and without effort, his arms becoming veritable flesh covered bands of steel while his hands shifted from sensual to vice-like, keeping him in place and at his mercy. The noise he let out was one torn between a combination of what was admittedly partially put-on annoyance and very real arousal. The laugh it brought him was low, husky and aroused in turn as the soft press of lips turned to one with the sharp bite of teeth nibbling on just the right side of pleasurable pain down the sharp line of his spine.

When he was level with the bottom of his tattoo- that is, right above the dip to his lower back, his attention shifted, captivated as it often was by the vibrant colors etched permanently into the otherwise flawless stretch of porcelain skin. It stretched nearly eight centimeters at its widest point, and was more than three times that in length. Though he'd gotten it young, he could never bring himself to regret it.

It was a unique piece he'd designed himself, though he'd gotten some help from the tattoo artist in the details as a whole. It took up nearly half of the skin covering the right side of his back and shoulder, stopping just shy of curving forward and being visible from in front of him. He had what appeared to be several surgically precise incisions dissecting various points across that portion of his back, with a mass of various electronic wiring visible 'beneath' the skin. Each of the 'incisions' had various wires appearing to be coming from them, certain points looking as if the skin was being pushed down by the weight of the wires rising out and then disappearing into various other points of the tattoo. The real skill had come in placing the wires along the natural dips and ridges of his back to give it a much more realistic looking quality. The majority the wiring had been done in black with grey tones for highlight, but vivid dark blues were also prominent and could also easily be seen throughout, helping set apart the amazing amount of detail put into it.

James seemed enthralled with it, even to this day, and often got lost in tracing the lines that seemed to disappear beneath his skin. Sometimes he traced beyond the edge of ink, almost as if he could envision where the wires would run had they been real. Q enjoyed the attention and was hardly going to argue against his fascination, not when it brought about such delicious results.

As he worked his way back up Q's body, his left hand rose in tandem, moving so that he could burry his calloused fingers in the unruly mop of chaotic dark curls that were practically begging to be tugged on. The groan Q released with the first firm tug was even louder than the noises he'd released before, and his arousal strained against the front of his trousers and remained ignored.

The hold James had on him had loosened in his distraction- or perhaps by design, Q realized when he moved to take advantage. He twisted his body around with a graceful motion that intensified the ache coming from his partner's hand still holding a fistful of his curls. He'd expected the increased ache, looked forward to it even, as his blood surged hotly in his veins, as he attempted to take control of their embrace. What he hadn't expected was James to predict his move and rotate his arm with the sudden motion, pulling harder still and somehow maneuvering his much smaller body out of his seat and then up against his own solid chest.

Q's body arched at the hold, rising up onto his tiptoes automatically and James maneuvered him easily, his other hand moving around to grasp at his taunt arse and pull him closer still, manually forcing him to grind his erection against James' own body. The noise _that_ earned him was breathless as Q relaxed fully into the dominating hold. As soon as James felt the change he moved, letting go of his hair and reaching down instead to grasp his narrow hips and lift him free of the floor. Q moaned aloud as the sudden motion caused his manhood to drag up the other man's body as he was lifted, and he brought his legs up to wrap around the other man's waist without protest, arms clasping around his strong neck. He felt another surge of pleasure as James spun him around to press briefly against a blank stretch of wall, ravishing him impatiently then and there.

Q took advantage of the small height advantage he'd gained thanks to the hold, and shifted his body to tease at his partner in turn. Thankfully, not long after, James grew just as impatient as he, and pulled him free from his braced position against the wall. He kept Q held tight to him as he made his way to their shared bedroom, not a gap of air between them. Later, after they finished the more physical aspect of their activities, they fell asleep in much the same way…

Tbc


End file.
